


Specter Steps

by xladysaya



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Music school AU, and plays the cello, ballet dancer!tsukki, basically nothing too graphic but I'd stay away if you hate that stuff, in which kuroo gets scared, mentions of suicide in a horror story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 00:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17777417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xladysaya/pseuds/xladysaya
Summary: Kuroo believes in ghosts. He’s always believed in ghosts. What he can’t believe is his current predicament. He never expected to get this involved in his new college’s local horror story, or to see the dreaded ghost in a dorm window while walking home. His friends don’t believe him, he can’t sleep, and he thinks it’s time he took things into his own hands…





	Specter Steps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buttercreamfrosting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercreamfrosting/gifts).



> Happy Valentines Day!!!! This fic is for the kurotsuki server exchange, and I'm really happy I made it on time given how out of control this fic got. 
> 
> I really hope you like this Shayna! I tried to put in things you like, though it's admittedly been a long time since I've written a fic for you ffff, I'm sorry it ended up so long ; ; I got carried away with the 'musicians' prompt and kinda put a weird spin on it ksdnfl 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this tho, and would even consider doing a sequel in the future! It was great to get to write some new characters, so thanks for giving me that opportunity! 
> 
> Thanks to [EmeraldWaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldWaves/pseuds/EmeraldWaves) for reading this monster over lol!

Kuroo has never been good at these so called, 'orientation parties.'

He knows they're supposed to be an opportunity to make friends, to familiarize oneself with other classmates, but honestly? For Kuroo, they're just an awkward bore.

And yeah, he knows. It's a shock, coming from him. He loves parties, socializing, whatever. His charm was a blessing and a curse growing up; he can make friends with almost anyone.

The party part isn't the problem. It's simply the orientation aspect.

When attending ritzy performing arts schools like the ones he's often accepted into, all these orientation parties do is exist for one purpose alone: sizing up the competition. And Kuroo just doesn't play by those rules.

Yet, he can't help but be a good sport. It's why he's here at this damn dormitory, hauling his cello up the stairs because the elevator was busted.

Yup, height of luxury. He really feels like he's the best of the best right now. His cello digs into his back and makes him rethink his life choices, including his love for the cursed instrument.

He just prays this school is finally the one; he needs a good fit. He's already transferred three times from the most prestigious universities, and yet nothing had felt right. Maybe Kuroo simply isn't cut out to play music professionally. He hates the expectations, the elitism. Though, he can blame that on schools, he guesses.

He's made a lot of good friends at his past schools, good people. He knows it's wrong to blame the field on his own feelings of loss and inadequacy, but...

It's for emotional support.

More than anything, he wants to play, regardless of shows or prestige. If this school can let him do that, he'll be more than willing to unpack the boxes in his new room.

For now, he has to get through this orientation first, and he prays he's late enough to have missed any of the ice breakers.

He reaches the glass door to the dorm lobby before he's really ready to, and he doesn't even get an opportunity to take a steadying breath before the door is being yanked the fuck open by a handsome, silver-haired man.

Now, Kuroo can't be sure, but he thinks he sees a spark of mischief in the other's eyes before they're overcome with warmth. Kindness abound, as if the glimpse of the devil had been an illusion.

Then again, Kuroo is an excellent judge of character.

"Welcome!" The other says, beaming bright enough to light the walkway behind him. Blinking, Kuroo looks down at his nametag, and the name Suga sits in a neat scrawl.

Definitely evil.

If Suga catches the way Kuroo squints, which Kuroo is 99% sure he  _does_ , he doesn't say anything about it. Another red flag, but at the same time Kuroo feels his shoulders relax. He really does feel better,  _refreshed_.

Suga's smile is genuinely welcoming, and the heat of the dorm is all too enticing. The awkward veil which Kuroo dreaded crossing through is no longer there, even as he hears voices in the distance.

He needs to stop being so negative; if he gives this place a real chance, it might be perfect for him.

"Come in!" Suga says as he pushes Kuroo forcefully, a strain in his tone as he has to tug on the weight of the cello as well. Kuroo gasps from not only Suga's strength, but the rush. Vague suspicion still sits in the back of his mind, Suga is far too eager about trapping him in this place.

But then the lighthearted voice is back, encouraging Kuroo's steps forward.

Kuroo is aware of his heavy frown slowly lifting, his face relaxing until the easy grin is back. There's posters all over the dorm walls with music puns and inside jokes, and Kuroo doesn't feel like he's somewhere prissy.

He hasn't felt this social in a long time.

"Oh, you brought your instrument! Cool!" Suga nods as he leads him down the dark hall. Heh. It kinda reminds Kuroo of some kind of horror movie. The atmosphere is already working for him.

Kuroo smirks as he shrugs his cello onto his shoulders better. "He's my baby alright."

"He?" Suga's brow arches, taunting.

"Until I get a boyfriend anyways." Kuroo appreciates Suga's sage nod. But really, it'll be a cold day in hell when he finds someone he loves as much as his cello.

But...not in a  _weird_  way.

"So you're the transfer right? From Nekoma?" Suga asks, the smile all too kind for someone capable of hoisting Kuroo and his twenty five pound instrument. "I'm Suga by the way!"

"Kuroo Tetsurou," he repeats, but blinks at the mention of his old school. One of them anyways, but the most recent. It's...a strange feeling. He loved Nekoma, met some of his best friends there. In fact, Kenma still went there, but...Kuroo just couldn't take the competition in his field. "You know Nekoma?"

Suga actually snorts. " _Everyone_  knows Nekoma, it's one of the best music schools out there." Ah, Kuroo guesses it's true. He's gotten enough flack for it, constant reminders from not only his peers but his undergrad professors. Suga doesn't ask him why he left though, doesn't act appalled at the decision. And most importantly, he doesn't look at Kuroo like he's lost his mind for leaving. Kuroo likes him more already. "We'll beat them in the showcase though, I'm sure."

Yeah, evil or not, Suga is alright.

"I hope so," Kuroo laughs, staring up at the ceiling. There's glow and the dark stars stuck on it, littered like they exploded up there. In the middle, there's a cheesy 'reach for the stars' slogan in glow in the dark lettering, and whatever, Kuroo takes it as a good sign.

"You excited to start new?" Suga asks then, stopping right in front of the door. He hears a loud, boisterous laugh from the other side, along with a quiet mumble in return, and sees the fondness glow in Suga's eyes.

He thinks about the question; he's had to start new so many times. But well, none of his new starts have been necessarily bad, even the ones where he never fully moved in, his boxes sitting in the corner from day one.

Not all of Kuroo's starts might've been successes, but they were adventures, and he'll always cherish the memories.

He looks at Suga's pleased face then, the realization more than he can handle. Kuroo is smiling like an idiot, for the whole world to see.

"Yeah, actually I am," he replies with a shy laugh. Then, he's grinning, faking a wince as best he can. "As long as I missed the ice breakers."

They really did fucking suck. Kuroo has had to endure them at more than three schools. He doesn't have enough 'interesting facts' about himself without getting weird.

He expects Suga to laugh him off or roll his eyes, but instead the other just scoffs, offended at the prospect of even doing something so lame.

"Oh, we skipped all that," Suga says, waving a hand as he reaches for the door. He looks almost more grateful than Kuroo. "They did those earlier in the night, now the group's not as big. We're the misfit stragglers now, so welcome aboard."

Misfits huh? Yes, definitely a good fit. 

In true dramatic fashion, Suga bursts open the double doors, and one of the group members jumps as the door hits the back wall.

It most definitely chipped plaster, Kuroo is sure of it. But Suga strolls in like he doesn't care and plops right down on a pillow cushion. The different pillows and blankets are scattered along the floor and the couch, forming a sad oval.

The next thing Kuroo sees is the bundle of LED lanterns sitting in the middle of the oval, a makeshift fireplace. All heads turn to look at him, either excited or unimpressed, but no eyes size him up.

No eyes try to suck the life and talent stats out of him in one go, and Kuroo is so thankful for it.

Without much else to lose and no fear on his shoulders, he takes a seat in front of the pile of sprite bottles which, from the strong smell, are definitely  _not_  filled with sprite.

College, a magical place.

Kuroo thinks it even more so as he watches Suga throw one back like it's nothing. Kuroo doesn't get an opportunity to worry for the other man's liver before he's being bombarded with a new voice, along with wide, golden eyes.

They're like a bird of prey's, but less menacing, even with the other's muscled body. Looking up, the main thing Kuroo notices is the other's hair, spiked and striped in the most unique way he's ever seen.

Just looking at this guy gives him a rush of energy.

"Whoa! A cello!" He booms in Kuroo's face, ducking around him to poke gently at the case on his back. "That's so cool! I love cellos so much!"

Well...that's not something one hears everyday. Kuroo can't help but smile, even as his ears ring.

Before he can reply, there comes a quieter, yet affectionate voice. "Bokuto-san..."

It comes from behind the muscular man, cutting through the air.

Bokuto, as Kuroo learns, is partial to this voice. His head flies from Kuroo towards it, so devoted, his attention captured completely.

Originally, Kuroo thinks the voice is meant to be scolding, but then he actually looks in the direction of it. He finds someone with the name  _Akaashi_  written on his tag, fond smile and even fonder eyes set right on Bokuto's figure.

It's not the expression or the posture of someone who is trying to stop Bokuto in any way, shape, or form, and Kuroo already respects it.

Yet, Kuroo still waits for the warning which never comes. A 'lower your voice' or 'give him room.' Instead Akaashi's hand reaches out towards Bokuto, no room for puzzlement. Kuroo knows, in an instant, exactly how these two feel about each other. "I'm cold."

And that's the only criticism to be found. Bokuto dutifully and quickly returns to his boyfriend's side, fitting easily into his little nook before beaming at Kuroo again, expectant.

Kuroo can't even find it gross. Is everyone here that dangerous?

He laughs, finally shrugging his cello off his shoulders. "Do you play?"

Bokuto leans forward excitedly, as if he might lunge at Kuroo again, but restrains himself. He has to remember Akaashi after all. "No! But Keiji does, it's awesome."

In greeting, Akaashi raises his hand. "Nice to meet you, glad to have another cellist."

"I'll say," Kuroo breathes, thankful for someone else to talk to who understands.

" _Nerds_."

The voice is sharp, and not particularly friendly. It's been a while since Kuroo has heard something so blunt, said without a stutter or an attempt at mumbling. He turns to the sound, and finds icy eyes framed with asymmetrical bangs. He regards Kuroo with...not much of anything, his skinny frame bundled (understandably) in about five blankets. The sixth one, which is around the shorter man next to him, is slowly inching towards him.

It's as if the grumpy man is slowly hoarding every blanket in the room until no one else has access to warm. It's strangely admirable.

"I agree with Shirabu on that one," the shorter one snorts. He gives Kuroo a teasing grin, sipping from his coffee mug as he dutifully snags his blanket back into his own territory. "It's not the sexiest instrument."

_Well, I never._

Kuroo doesn't get the chance to be offended, though he feels it deep in his soul. Cellos are the coolest, and he'll throw down with anyone who says otherwise.

"You're just jealous you're not strong enough to carry one of those Yaku-san," a  _tall_  man says, and Kuroo finds his nametag easily. Lev. And yes, when Kuroo said tall, he meant  _tall_. With a voice just an octave lower than Bokuto's, he dominates the room in both size and spirit. He sits up straighter from his own excitement, and Kuroo holds back the urge to gape. "You know, since you're so-- _ow_!"

Though, the kick to his side from Yaku is enough to tell Kuroo Lev is far from a pack leader. He hides his laugh, but fails miserably.

It must be a common occurrence; Shirabu looks on with disinterest, and Suga is on his second "water" bottle.

The stain of Yaku's sneaker sits beautiful and dark against Lev's red shirt, a stamp of victory to accompany the taller's whining.

"Shut it!" Yaku scoffs. "That's  _not_  why."

Sure, Kuroo thinks, as he senses the bitterness. But like hell is he going to say anything, he can't afford stains on this shirt.

Akaashi, as if reading his mind, smirks in his direction.

"You're not in the majority, and I know nerds when I see them," Shirabu interjects, turning his nose up. He reminds Kuroo of some of the snobbier people at his last school, but with a key ingredient missing.

It's obviously for show.

There's a haughtiness and annoyance there but it's not the same, it's not prejudiced. The music note charms and crumbled papers spilling from his laptop bag tell Kuroo as much.

Shirabu doesn't size Kuroo up in the usual way, because Kuroo hasn't given him anything to work with.

Kuroo hasn't performed, so Shirabu's true assessment is reserved.

Kuroo appreciates it, and the urge to show the room what he's made of is overwhelming. He hasn't felt that in a while either.

"Says the flutist," Lev mutters, and Shirbau's delicate hands turn to fists in the cloth across his lap.

" _Flautist_."

"Stop making up words."

"Anyways, that's Yaku," Suga finally steps in, pointing at the shorter man. Good timing too; Kuroo might be new, but even he knows when a strangling is about to begin. Shirabu huffs, thwarted. "This is Lev, and Mr. Happy over here is Shirabu."

"Fuck you." It's the most dispassionate curse Kuroo has ever heard.

Suga's hand motions towards him, righting itself only slightly when he realizes he's pointing at Bokuto and Akaashi instead.

He's the best orientation leader Kuroo has ever had.

"Nice to meet you all," he says with a grin, but the sassiness isn't missed. He sees a small sea of smirks and pouts, and feels right at home. "I'm Kuroo Tetsurou. I'm...excited to be going to school here."

"Don't force yourself to compliment us," Shirabu deadpans.

_Believe me, I won't._

"Don't speak too soon, exams here are murder," Yaku sighs, already falling against Lev. The other doesn't even budge.

Kuroo beams, proud and shit-eating. True colors. "I'm a straight A student."

_The only straight thing about me._

He decides he'll keep that to himself for now, they're not ready for his jokes. No one is.

"Great, a double nerd."

"Proud to be." Kuroo leans back, snatching one of Shirabu's blankets with agility unseen before. The room looks shocked, and Shirbau's eyes are nothing but murder. "What do you guys study?"

Yaku, seemingly accepting Kuroo into the pack from that alone, grins. "Ah, Lev and I are dance students, we won't cross paths much. But Bokuto might blow your eardrums out with a trombone daily."

A trombone player...

Kuroo takes in Bokuto's booming presence, his electric grin, large hands...

_Ah, fitting._

Lev winces, no doubt an old victim of the mentioned injustice. "Yeah, I'd recommend reserving a private room for practicing."

In the corner, Bokuto pouts, and Kuroo wonders how strong Akaashi must be under that baggy hoodie to not completely crumble under all the weight Bokuto is putting on him. "You guys are  _mean_."

"The campus is good for that though!" Yaku grins fondly; he must be one of those, one of the people who loves their school. Kuroo usually can't stand them, but in this case it's endearing. "There's lots of places to study or practice."

At the mention, Lev leaps up, letting Yaku fall unceremoniously onto the floor. It's a good thing the ceiling is so high, Lev is even taller than Kuroo would've guessed. "Hell yeah, the campus is awesome! We should show you around!"

Kuroo wouldn't be opposed. He hasn't had the chance to explore yet, nor does he have any idea where his classes are. But...

"Too dark now," Suga says, apologetic. Yeah. As much as Kuroo wants to find his way, empty office buildings and dark tunnels aren't great for that.

Lev falls back to the floor in an instant, and Yaku barely manages to get his head out of the way. Lev deflates, slumping his shoulders as much as he can. "Oh, yeah. It is late."

And then like a switch, the evilness which Kuroo detected from earlier seizes the room in fiery clutches. Suga's hands clap together, loud and directing all eyes to him. He simply looks too elegant, ankles crossed and hair perfectly combed, but his entire being screams disaster.

He's an enigma.

"Exactly," he says, his eyes sparkling. "Besides, I have something  _better_  planned for this time of night."

Kuroo looks around, eager to see if anyone else experiences the chill. They're all bored faced though, staring at Suga like he's the most normal person in the world.

Then, Kuroo turns to his left, and sees Akaashi staring right at him. His eyes are dark and emotionless, telling Kuroo to run.

He gets it.

"Scary stories!" Suga cheers, and--oh. Okay.

That's not so bad.

As Kuroo's excitement flairs up, the room groans. He looks around, perplexed, but Akaashi is still giving him a warning sign with his stare, and Kuroo can't really fathom why. Maybe Suga is a good storyteller or something, but it takes quite a lot to scare Kuroo.

He loves that stuff. If Akaashi is worried about him, he shouldn't be. Kuroo will just have to prove he's not a weakling.

Shirabu is the first to voice his complaints. "C'mon, the school always tells us the same shit. No one wants to hear the story of the escaped prison inmate for the 20th time."

Kuroo blinks."Is...is there even a prison around here?"

"Exactly."

"For real," Lev sighs, slumping into the pillow wall behind him. "Even I don't get scared of that one anymore."

Kuroo expects Suga to pout or disagree, but the grin on his face fades. It's blank now, staring right at the group of rebels.

"I have a new one," he says, 100% serious. It's as cold as the wind outside, the branches tapping against the glass every now and again. Suga's eyes hold a warning too, but also a temptation. Like a crime video at 3 am, impossible to resist. "One the school doesn't even let us tell anymore."

His voice drops to a whisper, expertly so. Three hundred of the nation's finest camp counselors would have nothing on him. Lev stiffens, and even Yaku scoots back an inch.

Oh, so this is what Akaashi probably meant.

"It happened just a few years ago, in the old abandoned dorm building," Suga continues, and there's no joy or satisfaction in his words. He doesn't sound like someone about to get off on scaring the shit out of people, and it somehow makes it ten times worse.

Nevermind, this is a terrible place.

"W-well, I haven't heard anyone talk about it," Bokuto replies, already hiding behind Akaashi's shoulders.

"No one knows," Suga says, turning to him sharply. Bokuto's grip even startles his boyfriend. "The school completely covered it up. You can't find the news articles or anything."

"Would you just tell us what happened?" Shirabu asks, but the exasperation is notably missing, his body turned in Suga's direction.

Without realizing it, Kuroo notes his own body, leaning forward in anticipation.

"Remember that one year where the school went to the dance showcase, and we were missing a ballerina?" Suga asks, looking in the direction of the two dancers. They weren't students at the time, but as hopefuls, they no doubt kept up with their field.

Yaku and Lev both nod.

The lantern light is suddenly too dim for any of their liking. The room plunges into a different kind of darkness, Suga's voice commanding the stale air. "Back when they still used those dorms, one of the dancers lived in the top room, where that big glass window is."

Kuroo can see it. Kuroo walked past it. He thought it was beautiful.

Suga's eyes drift across his listeners steadily, trapping them. "They say he was really reserved and shy, didn't talk to anyone outside of classes. You know the type, you might even be the type; super dedicated, not letting anything get in his way. If you walked by you could see him dancing in the window, never giving himself a rest."

Kuroo followed Shirabu's gaze as he looked out their own glass windows, wide but shrouded. Across the way sat another dorm, empty.

They quickly snapped their attention back to Suga, but that fate wasn't much better.

"As the showcase auditions neared, he stopped leaving his room altogether. People hardly saw him, not even to go use the  _restroom_ , but people thought nothing of it. He was a serious dancer, and it wasn't rare for him to go through training binges."

From the way Lev and Yaku exchange glances, Kuroo can see they understand a little too well.

"W-what happened to him?" Lev asks, cautious, because this can't possibly be a happy ending. It's not good for the genre.

Suga lowers his voice, glancing down the hall, as if even talking about this will involve some repercussions.

Genius storytelling, Kuroo has to give that to him, even as he regrets ever thinking he'd be alright with this story.

"Now, no one knows exactly how it went down, but when the results came out for who would be performing, he didn't get in," Suga says, his face pitiful. "Devastated, he stopped coming to class completely. Everyone was so wrapped up in prepping for finals and competitions, they soon forgot about him. Everyone understood."

Suga's somber expression drifts to all of them. "After all, how often have you guys locked yourself in your room for a good cry after messing up, or losing..."

It hits too close. Even Kuroo can't help but recall his greatest failures, every small mistake which kept him from shining.

The room mumbles in response. "A lot..."

"Exactly," Suga snaps in an instant, and they all jump. "People gave the guy his space. They even heard him crying through the music in his room, stuck in a deep slump. But, people thought it was normal. Weeks passed, and they saw him in the window, dancing again. They were relieved. Every time people would walk past, they'd see the gentle twirl, his graceful moves proving he was alright."

And oh, Kuroo predicts the ending before it's even voiced. The tree branches batter the door outside, and Suga stares straight at him. He's won.

"But then the smell came."

Everyone curls in on themselves, Shirabu's eyes even flicker to his nose, offended by the phantom decay.

"A smell so terrible, so  _putrid_ , it spread through the whole building and overpowered the sweetest candles, the strongest cleaners. It made people sick just walking by, and by that point, they finally had to intervene. The RA took it upon himself to forcefully enter the room after the dancer didn't respond, and well...they found him. Slowly spinning, hanging by his neck from the ceiling fan, graceful even in death."

_Dancing, even past his most human limits._

The room fills with silence, but...well, it's not the most shocking ending. The most Suga gets is a grimace from Shirabu and a choked noise from Lev; it's not the 'let’s all scream now' type of story.

But man, does Kuroo wish he hadn't listened.

Suga shrugs then, his storytelling demeanor seemingly melting away. "They say he did it sometime in the evening, so if you walk by that building around sundown, you'll see him there. Slowly spinning..."

The entire room is quiet as they process, Akaashi's gaze even loses the calm indifference from before.

A chill travels through Kuroo, subtle, almost not there.

Yes, of course. It shouldn't be as terrifying as Suga makes it sound. It isn't. But Kuroo has never quite felt this unsettled, not from war crime documentaries or banned films from other countries.

This is just...different. He doesn't appreciate it. And from the look on Suga's smug face, he knows that.

Yes, this is definitely a terrible place.

Now, Kuroo is obviously no stranger to scary stories. He loves them; he's seen the most obscure and foreign films in hope of seeking the thrill, and only a handful have actually made him keep a light on at night.

This should be his favorite part of the night. And it's not exactly a unique story. A ghost dancer? Nothing about it sounds horrifying on its own.

Yet something about Suga's voice and the shadows of the building do something to him.

He thinks of the campus, his walk. All the dorms are lined with large windows, easy to peer through. The paths lined with foliage and trees, like modern cabins in a fake woodland. Sure, there are fast food restaurants right down the street, and the campus itself has three Starbucks for fuck's sake, but they're not visible from the living quarters. Everyone here is truly sequestered, the ideal hunting ground for a murderer or otherwise.

More importantly, Kuroo can practically see this legend. A young man, hanging by the neck, visible through one of the windows but somewhat clouded by the surrounding trees. An illusion of dancing...

"You see it huh?" Suga's voice breaks through his thoughts, and Kuroo is thankful no one sees him jump. They're too busy doing the same, gazes stuck on Suga.

But Kuroo knows the voice is directed at him, Suga's eyes linger a little too long.

"Huh?" he mutters for the rest of them, like an absolute idiot. The wind outside gets a little more violent, a warning sign. This night is over.

"The ballet dancer," Suga says, like it's nothing. The innocence and teasing in his tone is pure evil. "I would be careful if I were you. If you see him, some say it's a bad omen."

Oh, do they?

Kuroo glares, and Shirabu seems to have had enough as well. The flutist scoffs, throwing off his blanket as he gets his bag ready to go.

Lev has to be coaxed up, his eyes darting to every dark corner of the room. Bokuto still hides behind Akaashi, but given their lack of movement, Kuroo can only guess this is actually their building.

Lucky.

Still, Kuroo can't let Suga know the story got to him. He'll walk home, proud and brave, and if he power walks a little...no one has to know.

"I don't believe in ghosts," he says, a final note. Not ghosts that actually  _appeared_. Hauntings though, hauntings were legit. Suga doesn't look convinced.

Luckily, Kuroo isn't his main victim tonight. His attention is quickly monopolized by Yaku, who also refuses to admit he's terrified. As they all walk to the exit though, bidding goodnight to Bokuto and Akaashi, Kuroo catches the way he glimpses at the path outside.

The abandoned building is just up the hill...

It'll take everything Kuroo has to not peek into it.

Out of everyone, Shirabu seems the least put off, and it's almost a shame. It would've been oddly satisfying, seeing him scared for his life.

"I'm never coming to one of your meetups again," Yaku mutters, even as he hugs Suga warmly. It's a lie; they'll all be back. The knowledge of that, as well as his excitement for it, is something that surprises Kuroo.

He's had a fun time, despite the nightmares. He doesn't feel the need to avoid these people, or hide away.

If anything, he feels twice as ready to unpack, to put all his energy into the school year.

That in itself should be enough for him to make it back to his dorm.

A rat rustling in a bush outside makes Lev jump, and they all laugh, Kuroo's a borderline cackle. The atmosphere is easier, simpler, and something Kuroo hopes won't go away anytime soon.

When Kuroo finally leaves down the path, late into the night, his new friends smile brightly at him, and teasingly wish him a pleasant walk.

\--

And he does have one, every single time.

After the first night's victory of not staring up at the old dorm building, the legend falls to the back of his mind. Classes begin, taking all his time, but in a good way. They refresh him, but don't make him lazy. He ends each day wanting to practice more, to produce more music no matter how terrible it might sound next to Bokuto's trombone.

And maybe that's what's made the change so refreshing. Most of his free time is spent in music rooms with his friends, bugging Yaku and Lev at rehearsals, or simply having movie nights with Bokuto and Akaashi. Akaashi apparently has a single room that he and Bokuto share, a perk of working for the housing office.

It's not grand, but it  _is_  the only room on the first floor of his dorm, perfect for late night movie binges and board games.

Also, Kuroo doesn't have to worry about falling down the stairs when he's drunk. So that's fun.

He thinks Shirabu is slowly coming around to him too, going as far as to save Kuroo a seat during their weekly study sessions. He always insists he puts his backpack on the chair because he hates when people sit next to him, but Kuroo knows.

They don't need to speak otherwise.

And so, like with everything else, Kuroo's own music flows beautifully. He doesn't think he's had the opportunity to play this much in a long time, nor the energy or desire. It's like falling in love with the cello all over again, and as he carries it across campus to make Lev's dance practice, it feels lighter.

It's no longer a burden, but something he loves again, and he thanks his stars for his decision to switch schools, urban legends or otherwise.

But then, it happens. He gets sick.

"Aw Kuroo, you sure you don't want to come to dinner?" Suga asks, and Bokuto whines all the same. With the rest of their group busy, they're been reduced to a party of three. But around lunch time, Kuroo could feel his throat getting dry, scratchy. The headache came after that, along with the sweats and chills...

Yup, 24 hour bug, definitely.

As he walks towards the bridge which separates the housing block from the campus itself, he shoots the two of them an apologetic smile. "Sorry guys, I can feel the fever coming on. I can't afford to feel worse tomorrow."

Seriously, so many assignments due already...

His only hope is to sleep for eighteen hours and drown himself with cold meds. Suga nods in understanding as Bokuto pouts, and Kuroo promises to make it up to them.

They know he will, and Kuroo finds himself grinning at that. It's enough to get him through the hilly paths to his building, but if there's one thing he should've learned from that first night, it's that Suga's words would always come back to bite him in the ass.

As Kuroo makes his way past the old dorm building, with it's large, shrouded windows he  _never_  looks at, something inside him tugs his gaze upwards.

He looks, and really wishes he hadn't.

There, in the windows, he sees movement. Slow, smooth, spinning.

Kuroo stops in his tracks as if he hits a wall, and doesn't believe what he sees. There, half concealed by the dark trees, is a young man's silhouette, dancing.

It's something which definitely should  _not_  be there. Kuroo blinks as the chill sweeps over him, wishing for an illusion, for an excuse.

Can he blame the beginning licks of his fever? On his imagination?

No, he doesn't think so, and it makes everything twice as terrifying.

When it hits him, his brain shoots him into action, and as he runs off like a child, he swears he sees the spinning change directions, as if hanging by a rope.

\--

After a night of feverish, restless sleep, filled with dreams of decaying ballet dancers...Kuroo is inclined to believe he'd been hallucinating.

He's on painkillers now, his head still achy but not as clouded. Surely, it was a misunderstanding. It hadn't really been the old dorm building he'd been looking at, just a simple mistake.

Or, perhaps the trees and their shadows had all conjoined into something weird, something with motion.

Kuroo wouldn't put it past nature to fuck with him.

He leaves his room shaky over the next few days, confident in his own betrayal of sight. He'll sacrifice his pride enough to admit that; the story must've scared him a lot more than he thought. That's all.

But then it keeps happening, and Kuroo wants to cry.

He sees the dancer  _every_  evening, like clockwork, the shadows subtle and hardly visible beneath the trees, to the point Kuroo  _knows_  he's not hallucinating.

The movement is so graceful, so elegant, it can't be human. A specter, a beautiful one, but a sign of broken dreams and death.

He recalls Suga's warning.

_A bad omen._

So why is Kuroo seeing it?

It eats him alive, but now he can't stop. He  _searches_  for the movement every night on his way home, willing for it to be gone, but it's not.

It's barely a week before it starts following him; the thoughts, the paranoia.

In class, he keeps expecting some kind of catastrophe, an embarrassment. He crosses the street with extreme care, he stops staying out late.

But otherwise, nothing changes. His friends don't notice Kuroo's frantic looks over his shoulder, or his habit of fidgeting.

His grades are good, his family is well. He even gets singled out by a professor for his excellent playing one day.

Everything is great. So  _why_? Why does he keep seeing the damn dancer, every night, mocking him?

 _Telling_ him that something terrible should be on the horizon.

\--

When Kuroo slams his backpack down on the table in front of Shirabu, the younger actually jumps. It's almost depressing, because Kuroo is far too frantic to take any satisfaction out of actually startling the grump.

He cuts Shirabu off mid- _whatever the hell he was saying_ , brain reeling.

"I can't take it anymore," Kuroo hisses, his hair probably twice as messy. His shirt is inside out, he knows okay? Several people have pointed it out. But, it's not important. It's not important, because-- "I saw the ghost!"

Oh, he  _saw_  the ghost. He keeps seeing it, and if it keeps happening, he's going to...call  _somebody_.

No noise comes out of Shirabu's mouth, and Kuroo doesn't give Shirabu time to finish blinking. "I saw the ghost, it's true, it's-- _oh_."

Big oh.

Whoops.

Kuroo's eyes stop tunnel visioning for a moment longer than normal, and it's like a whole new world again. A world made up of more than just him, his crisis, and his grumpy friend.

It's then Kuroo realizes they're not alone. Across from Shirabu, lounging at the courtyard table, is...someone Kuroo has never seen before. Combed, blondish-gray hair and hazel eyes. Eyes staring  _very_  concerned, and  _very_  confused, right at Kuroo. "Uh..."

And as if it couldn't get any stranger, Kuroo swears he sees the tops of Shirabu's cheeks color. He's blushing. Shirabu is blushing.

It's almost a worse omen than the dancer.

The newcomer looks over at Shirabu for some ounce of an explanation, and his eyes soften.

Soften.

"This is my...associate...Kuroo," Shirabu says to his companion, trying his best to not look too perturbed. The other man smiles in understanding, and...what.

What the hell is this?

Kuroo didn't  _know_  about  _this_.

"Hi," Kuroo says, momentarily forgetting his own issue. And it's a big fucking issue. He waves, controlling his breathing long enough to seem normal, and waits for an explanation which surely won't come. "Nice to meet you...?"

"Semi Eita," the other says, rubbing the back of his neck. He throws a hand over his shoulder, as if that helps. "Uh...I'm sorry, I'm from the community college down the road. I stopped here to see Kenjirou."

Kuroo stares.

Semi is handsome, his smile sweet. He's looking at Shirabu like he's always dreamed of dating a  _flautist_ , which is not something  _anyone_ does.

"What?" Kuroo asks, purely at a loss. It's not that it's unbelievable for Shirabu to find a boyfriend, no. It's just something completely against nature to see Shirabu look so bashful, so  _happy_  even without smiling.

Like a deer running on water.

"What do you want Kuroo?" Shirabu hisses, as if he realizes all this and more. No matter how much Shirabu can insult Kuroo on the surface, even he has to know how good he is at reading people, at making connections. The jig is up.

Lucky for him, it's not Kuroo's priority. He'll get to the bottom of this later. After he interrogates Shirabu and then blabs to the rest of their friends about it. In the meantime...

"I saw the ghost," Kuroo whispers, taking his place at the table.

"Of your future?"

" _No_ ," Kuroo asserts. No bullshit today. "The ballet dancer. The one from the story."

Shirabu, bless his heart, actually has the consideration to respond. "The...ballet ghost...from the old dorm building?"

"Yes!" Finally, someone is getting it. "Multiple times! Every time I walk past it, I see it, mocking me. I swear, I can't sleep now! I keep worrying something is gonna happen to me. Can ghosts travel..."

It's not a question to anyone in particular, he's more upset that he doesn't know himself. All those movies, all that knowledge. What a waste.

Shirabu stares. If Kuroo was in a better state of mind, he might be touched. Shirabu's face is two parts concern, and the rest baffled. But concern is still in there, resting somewhere in the scrunched up lines of his face.

Kuroo deflates, just a little, and sighs. “Okay, I know you probably think I’m nuts--"

“I think many things about you."

Kuroo doesn't have to ask, he hears the unspoken implication loud and clear: none of them are flattering. He breathes in. 

Let's try this again. Not everyone is a believer like him, he'll have to ease them into it.

"I know okay, I know it makes no sense, but would I really make this up?" Kuroo appeals to his character, and Shirabu's tongue is tied. Exactly. "I  _know_  what I saw. The story is true!"

"Kuroo, I don't know how to break this to you, but that story is 100% fake," Shirabu says, slow, like Kuroo is a child. "It's folklore at this point,  _every_  school has some version of it, just tweaked a little to suit the specific campus."

"It's true," Semi interrupts, smiling apologetically. Kuroo hears Shirabu's breath hitch. "My school has one, but we don't have dorms. Instead it's about a dancer that died in the main auditorium, as a protest for not getting picked for some...show or something? You know the drill."

Kuroo doesn't say anything. He only lets the words run through his head.

Folklore.

There's no way...there's--

"Kuroo, there's no way you saw that ghost," Shirabu says, leaning in. Kuroo doesn't move, staring into the void ahead. The path to the dorms seems to call to him somehow. "Unless we're the one in a million school where the story is actually true."

"And I don't remember any local news in the last few years about a dead dancer," Semi adds, shrugging as he destroys Kuroo's last hope. "Sorry."

It's supposed to be a comfort.  _Supposed_  to be.

Yet, Kuroo can't accept it. If he does, then he'll have to admit he's going crazy, which he's  _not_. What do they know? Maybe this is another ghost entirely, or the school tried to cover it up...

Whatever it is, Kuroo is tired of not knowing. He's found a place he's happy at, and this ghost is  _not_  going to ruin it for him.

He'll get to the bottom of this before it's too late.

Defiantly, Kuroo grabs his backpack, fixing them both with the determination and stubbornness of an absolute fool.

He glares, holding the eye contact as he stomps away, until finally a wall forces him to turn a corner.

If he thinks he hears Shirabu mutter an 'oh no,' he ignores it entirely.

\--

However, that pettiness and bravery dies as he actually gets to the old dorm building later that evening. He'd played vigorously all afternoon, the intensity earning him good marks from his teachers.

He hadn't had the heart to tell them it was his own way of pumping himself up. He'd marched to the dorms right after class, goal set, but then he saw movement in the window, an elegant glow...

Why is he doing this?

Kuroo's backpack falls to the floor as the question douses all the heat and courage he'd built up. What does he know about confronting ghosts? By all logic, as soon as he gets up there, it'll be gone.

He hits his head against a nearby tree.

No.

He has to try. Besides, maybe if he sees an empty room...he'll feel better. It'll be some kind of sign, a reminder that the after life is still far from his grasp, and he won't be able to interact with it for a long time.

When he dies though, he'll make sure to come back here for a sec, if it's allowed. He's got  _lots_  of words.

Kuroo takes a deep breath, and begins his descent up the old steps. He tries to ignore the other possibility in his head, the more horror-esque one, in which he does come face to face with a ghost, only to suffer a horrible fate.

Uh yeah, he hopes not.

The dorm building must be more than two decades old, but up until a few years ago, it had been in use. The walls are still intact, save for some holes and water damage. Graffiti from students litters the walls, and many of the doors are missing along with the windows. The whole bottom floor is a skeleton, probably to keep drifters away. Kuroo finds his way to the second floor easily, the silence oddly calming.

If it wasn't so creepy, it'd be relaxing. The perfect place to sit and practice, letting time fade away.

But the silence does not continue. As Kuroo ascends the stairs, he hears it.

Slow notes, a melody so beautiful it doesn't register as eerie at first. He pauses mid step, listening. The notes are slow, but as he lets them wrap around his head and heart, he knows it.

Swan Lake.

It's some of his favorite music, but he seldom gets to play it for others. It sounds too depressing, he's been told. Deep and full bodied, not light and smooth like it's supposed to sound. After a harsh critique at his former school, he solely plays it for himself now.

But Kuroo never heard it as a funeral song; on his own instrument, from his own hands, it sounded twice as magical, like he'd been teleported to a world all his own.

More than anything, it makes him think of moonlight, for night is the best time to play it. Always has been.

It should've been a red flag, haunting music in an empty building. But against all Kuroo's internal warnings from before, he chases it. It grows louder as he climbs, nearing the the rooms at the very top. He follows it around corners, down the hall, all the way until he gets to a wide open door.

The door. The dorm room where a student supposedly died, too heartbroken to dance anymore.

For whatever reason, fear doesn't chase him away, even as the music bounces off the walls. Kuroo peers in, and the image suits the music more than anything he could've imagined.

There is indeed a ballet dancer in the room, right in front of the windows. The fading sunset shines through them, painting the room in shadows. It makes sense now, how the movements would look blurred and translucent from the outside.

But Kuroo isn't really thinking about that anymore.

The dancer has all his attention. He's tall, _taller_ in his confidence and steps, the red pointe shoes well cared for and broken in. Every step is purposeful, but free, moving with the music as he pleases. Porcelain skin takes in light, almost as if he's made of glass, the sun bouncing off him in rays. The black leggings and dark blue t-shirt make him shine more, someone trying too hard to be apart of the darkness, but never succeeding.

It's a strange contrast, given the music, but Kuroo has never seen anything more fitting. The blond in front of him twirls expertly, peacefully, in his own little world.

Kuroo knows the feeling, can only hope he looks as happy and calm as this young man does right now. Kuroo feels his breath leave him as the music slows to and end, the dancer's finishing pose so unrefined and vulnerable.

They'd truly been having fun, nothing more.

Kuroo wishes it didn't have to end.

The dancer stares out of the windows as the notes taper off, his feet finally lying flat against the floor.

Fin. The blond breathes heavily, his glasses slipping from his nose, and Kuroo has to remind himself how to exist. Anyone would feel like a spirit in here, calmly drifting between two worlds.

Maybe that's the appeal.

His eyes don't leave the dancer's toned back, but only after the music ends does Kuroo realize this person is in fact not a ghost.

Oh.

'Oh no' had been right after all.

The heat fills his face, the revelation like 200 pounds of hard concrete onto his shoulders

He doesn't get a chance to process it, to feel embarrassed or high tail it outta there before he's discovered. The blond turns around, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead as his bangs stick there, and he locks eyes with Kuroo almost instantly.

Whoa.

Nevermind, the vibrancy there puts the sun to shame.

If only they weren't so cutting though.

Shit.

They both stay at a standstill, too shocked to really do anything, and Kuroo grasps at the straws of his vocabulary.  _C'mon!_ "I-I..."

The blond's shoulders look uncomfortably tense, the muscles there catching Kuroo's eye, and then all hell breaks loose. Those stunning eyes glare like Kuroo is scum, and flashing with an ire that makes Kuroo want to run with his tail between his legs. "What the  _hell_  are you doing here?"

Kuroo flinches. Suddenly, all his reasons from before, his fears...he's never felt so fucking stupid in his life.

Part of him searches for an excuse, anything but the truth, but his vision is still tunneling on the gorgeous man in front of him, his brain has no hope of catching up. Expecting it to lie...well that's just impossible.

"I thought you were a ghost," he blurts out, and if he could disown himself from his own body, he would.  _Oh god._

It's not what the dancer expects. He blinks, and Kuroo sees the way his eyelashes catch some of the fleeting light. His nose scrunches, and Kuroo has a vague thought that the dancer and Shirabu might be good friends.

Purely for their shared Kuroo experiences.

"What?" The dancer shakes his head, and yeah, Kuroo wishes he could tell him he heard wrong. From the way his eyes narrow, the dancer realizes it too.

This is all real, and Kuroo wants to die. "Well see, that legend about--"

The blond sputters; of all the things one expects to deal with in life, being mistaken for some spiritual entity is not one. "I'm not a  _ghost_ you--you...."

Yeah, Kuroo didn't have a word for himself either.

Pathetically, Kuroo glances towards the speaker connected to the blond's phone, not visible from the outside. If it had been...it sure would've saved Kuroo this embarrassment. His voice sounds so small when he finally finds it. "Then why are you here?"

It's a reasonable question. While abandoned buildings are cool, Kuroo doesn't know if he'd be hanging out in one every evening.

It's a bad question, apparently.

The dancer's shoulders hike up again, as if he's been splashed, and Kuroo tries not to wince from the verbal whipping he's about to get. The blond is already packing up his stuff as he speaks, but the color on his cheeks is unmistakable.

Humiliation.

Kuroo feels like absolute shit.

The blond throws his stuff into his backpack as he tosses on his hoodie. "I like practicing  _alone_." As he pushes past Kuroo in a frenzy, he doesn't bother waiting for Kuroo to move. They bump, and Kuroo stumbles, trying to find some way to remedy this.

It doesn't last long, but he sees the blond startle, as if he's instinctually about to apologize. Then, he remembers, and well, Kuroo can't blame him.

Then, the blond sneers over his shoulder, leaving Kuroo with one last biting remark. "But if...if I knew I'd have to worry about creeps interrupting me, I would've just stayed in my room!"

The blond's footsteps thunder down the steps, his pace too great for Kuroo to dream of catching up in his stunned state. Plus...he doubts he can make this better right now.

Still, he uselessly tries. At the end of. the hallway he peers over the stares, his voice echoing against the decaying walls. "Hey, wait! I'm sorry!"

But all he gets is a flash of blond hair, the footsteps fading until all Kuroo has is the silence once more.

\--

Yaku's laughter makes Kuroo want to punch him, but he'd have to pick his head off the table for that.

It's just not an option.

"Oh my  _god_ ," Yaku wheezes, not helping. "Tsukishima Kei! You thought the silent composer was a ghost?!"

Kuroo groans, turning his head only to see Lev shaking his head in sympathy. Based on the description he told his friends, they were able to connect the dots pretty easily.

"Who is Tsukishima Kei?" Kuroo asks. He'd like to know more about who he offended, so he can at least find a way to beg for forgiveness from someone so heavenly.

"Mm," Suga begins, setting down some coffee for Kuroo. He doesn't touch it. "He used to be a composer, one of the best, but he switched to the dance program a year ago. He's doing very well I hear."

"Yeah, but he purely dances ballet," Lev pipes up. "Keeps to himself too, I can't believe you saw him!"

"He probably  _hates_  me," Kuroo whines. Of course he'd piss off someone who was not only gorgeous, but insanely talented.

"Yeah probably," Suga says, his smile a little too amused. Well, this is all his fault, maybe he's just proud he scared Kuroo enough to get him to this point.

" _Ughhhhh_."

"Don't feel bad, he probably just needs to cool down," Yaku eventually offers, out of breath. "He's reserved but he's pretty polite. You may not ever see him again anyways..."

"But what if I want to?" Kuroo says, unable to control himself. The smirk on Suga's face barely has time to grow before Kuroo is hastily adding: "I can't just leave things like this!"

"Good fucking luck man," Yaku snorts. "But hey, look on the bright side."

Kuroo raises his head, painfully eager.

Yaku's smile is smug, and Kuroo really should've known better. "At least now you know there's no ghost."

"Fuck you."

\--

His cello feels heavier in the days following, but he knows he has to practice. As some weird form of personal punishment, Kuroo gets up before the sun, sluggishly making his way towards one of the small auditoriums. No one will be there to hear him mess up, as he tends to do when he's so mopey.

He can't stop thinking about the blond, how upset he looked...

Kuroo deserves to practice until his fingers bleed, maybe he'll even try some harder pieces. Whatever it takes to get this whole thing off his mind.

What he doesn't expect is to find someone else there already, slowly spinning. Hypnotizing, elegant, as quiet as a ghost.

Oh.

Kuroo's gasp isn't subtle, nor is the door to the auditorium, and Tsukishima turns to him quickly. It's deja vu, the shock mingled with unfortunate acceptance. The blond stops his movements, shutting his phone's music off, as if suddenly self-conscious.

He shouldn't be, he's amazing.

For whatever reason, Kuroo finds Tsukishima's pointe shoes, a bright blue this time. Cute.

They stand for a while, terribly reminiscent of their first encounter, but then Tsukishima's feet shift towards his backpack, ready to bolt.

Kuroo's reaction is instantaneous.

"No wait! Please don't leave," he says, and to his relief, Tsukishima actually pauses. Kuroo curls in on himself, hoisting his cello further onto his shoulders. Nervous habit. Tsukishima's eyes fly to his instrument, wide and innocently curious.

Kuroo tries to remember how to function. "You were here first, I'll just--"

"Go ahead," Tsukishima interrupts, the tops of his cheeks coloring from the abruptness. He glares at the floor, adorable, and Kuroo can live with the reluctance on his face. In a way, Tsukishima is offering a truce, a redo of their terrible first meeting. "It's dumb for both of us to take up different rooms..."

The mumble is enough to make Kuroo's heart soar. He's being afforded this, so he better not fuck it up.

"Ah, yeah..." Kuroo fumbles with his cello, practically flying into the nearest chair. He leaves most of the floor for Tsukishima, though he's not really sure how much room a ballet dancer needs. Probably a lot? As an afterthought, he makes sure to turn himself at a certain angle. He wants to watch Tsukishima practice, he can't help himself.

He expects Tsukishima to get back to business, to completely ignore Kuroo, but as Kuroo unzips his cello, those honey-brown eyes trace over it.

Kuroo pauses as he grabs his rosin, following Tsukishima's eyes to the strings.

He doesn't need to voice his question; Tsukishima catches his gaze, and makes a show of focusing on the far wall instead.

"I don't see them often," the blond explains, gesturing in the cello's direction. Kuroo can't stop the smile on his face. "It's...probably a relief for the music department that you transferred."

Tsukishima tries to sound annoyed, but Kuroo can't get over the fact Tsukishima actually  _knows_  something about him. Maybe he wasn't the only one thinking about their first encounter.

It's endearing, and a little flattering. He knows Tsukishima isn't admiring him, just the instrument, but it makes his chest swell with pride. When he was younger, he'd simply picked the cello because it did the best job of hiding him, back when all he wanted to do was disappear.

While he's changed a lot since then, it was one of the best decisions he'd ever made.

"He's my baby," he says, preening. His back straightens as he sets the large wooden body against his own. Though, he does have to stay humble. "When I can play right anyways."

Tsukishima, with his crossed arms and closed off posture, actually smiles. He smiles, and Kuroo hears a symphony.

By some miracle, Tsukishima is satisfied with the answer.

"You mean when you're not ghost hunting," the blond jabs, and this time, Kuroo does wince.

Ah, yeah. He supposes it's impossible to completely move on from his big slip-up. Looking back, it's pretty funny. When he scans Tsukishima's face, he doesn't find any of the original anger, and he figures that's a good sign.

"Uh yeah." Kuroo clears his throat. "I'm still really sorry about that. It was...so stupid, I let my imagination get the better of me."

An understatement, but...the truth. Last time he went ghost-hunting, even if he did manage to actually see one.

Kuroo ducks down, as if to hide, a habit he hasn't resorted to in a long time. He doesn't really know Tsukishima; all he knows is that he's talented, gorgeous, with a biting tongue. Good things, but nothing deep. Yet...he makes Kuroo incredibly nervous.

In a good way. Kuroo hangs on his every word, every movement.

Slowly, Tsukishima opens up. His feet, quiet and graceful, move forward a little, back to the center of the room. Right where he belongs. "Not bad in our line of work."

"I guess, but I should've kept it to the music sheet."

Tsukishima snorts, genuine and unexpected. The blond's hand flies up to his mouth to cover the smile, but Kuroo's already burning it into his long term memory.

When he's old and remembers nothing else, he's sure he'll remember  _this_.

Tsukishima pulls at his fingers before jolting, pinning them to his sides as if to protest the action. Instead, his feet move on their own accord, making small twirls as he stays in place. Tsukishima isn't trying to show off, Kuroo can tell. It's the same way Kuroo might mess with his bow or thrum strings when he's trying to figure out what to say.

Tsukishima moves through the positions, standing on the tips of his toes effortlessly.

"Um," the blond breathes, his hands gesturing at nothing as he sways this way and that. Kuroo wants to tell him he doesn't have to force himself to talk, but he's selfish. He wants to hear more. And in all honesty, Tsukishima doesn't seem like the type to force himself to continue a conversation.

It baffles Kuroo, and he can't figure it out. Until of course, he hears Tsukishima's voice, and understands it's not politeness or awkwardness keeping his mouth moving. It's genuine interest. "I've actually...been to the college where that dumb legend is originally from. I took the tour even though I wasn't planning on going there."

Kuroo's brow furrows. "Why visit then?"

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, embarrassed to admit it. Maybe it's his attempt to make Kuroo feel better, or perhaps just his way of telling himself that what Kuroo did wasn't nearly as lame. "I wanted to see if I could catch a glimpse of the ghost. I took a night tour and everything. But nothing."

The best part is Tsukishima actually looks quite disappointed. Kuroo can relate, but he grins, bright and too happy for this time of day. He wishes he could've done something like that, he hadn't even thought of researching the legend.

"Oh man, that's so cool!" He gushes, and Tsukishima stares, pleasantly surprised. Maybe he's used to people calling it weird, who knows. Kuroo just wants to know more. "Was it at least creepy?"

Tsukishima faces him head on this time, something in his eyes sparking.

Kuroo gets it.

If he can get Tsukishima talking about something he's interested in, the scathing, polite exterior dies. He loves it.

But the topic of ghosts, huh? The irony.

He wonders what else...

"Considering the school building was over 100 years old? Very," the blond says, a small smirk on his face. It pierces Kuroo right in the chest.

"Awesome," he breathes back. "All the schools I've been to have been newer, nothing remotely cool. Plus I'm a city boy, any abandoned buildings got demolished instantly growing up. No point in making up myths."

Doesn't mean he didn't scour the internet at midnight, reading horror story forums and learning about landmarks he'd never visit.

"Where I come from, there's nothing but," the blond mutters, again swaying to nothing in particular. At Kuroo's questioning gaze, he shrugs. "Country. You know how it...well, you can guess."

Ah, he wishes.

The room fills with silence again, but comfortable, not laced with tension or frustration. Kuroo likes it, could sit in it all day, but as he watches Tsukishima lazily make his way through the movements, he suddenly feels guilty.

Oh, right. They're supposed to be practicing, and maybe Tsukishima doesn't appreciate Kuroo staring directly at him as he tries to get through a proper routine.

Kuroo rubs the back of his neck, eyeing the way Tsukishima fails to follow through on yet another lunge forward. "Ah, am I distracting you? I know some people don't like to practice like this..."

In front of others.

It's a shame, because Tsukishima really is stunning. But Kuroo remembers what his friends said. The blond is reserved, hell, he picked an abandoned building just so he could practice alone.

But despite the truth in that, Tsukishima shakes his head. "It's not that. I'm just not used to having music. I forgot my speaker this morning, using my phone is lame..."

As if cursing the thing, Tsukishima sets his phone down on the nearest stool, frustrated. It also happens to be where his notebook sits, open, covered in different compositions.

_A composer..._

Right. Tsukishima had switched from that. Perhaps that's why he kept to himself. Even with all Kuroo's years of performing, he was more than a little anxious about performing in a novel setting.

He wants to help make Tsukishima's transition easier too, in anyway he can.

"I could play something for you."

The words are out before he means them to be, and he really has to work on that. As soon as they're out, Kuroo zips his lips shut, grip tightening on his bow.

Tsukishima looks more confused than reluctant, so at least there's that. "Huh?"

Kuroo can't go back on it though, the urge is  _there_ , powerful. He steels himself. "It'll help me practice too, I can play Swan Lake if you want?"

He hopes it's what Tsukishima wants. In truth, the theme's been stuck in Kuroo's head since they met, an unending, haunting tune. He just hopes Tsukishima doesn't mind how it sounds...

Kuroo adds the warning, just in case. "Although...it sounds a little different on a cello. Darker I guess? Or that's what people say. I like it though."

And he hopes Tsukishima will too. Before he can babble more, Kuroo cuts himself off, watching Tsukishima's face think it over.

"I don't think I've ever heard it on only the cello."

Ah, it's what Kuroo both expected and feared. He swallows, trying not to seem too nervous. He's confident in his skill, in his talent, but...

It's hard to play something from the heart, only to have the recipient not enjoy it. He's been there one too many times.

But Tsukishima just nods then, slow and understanding. "Okay, let's try."

Before Kuroo can look shocked at the agreement, Tsukishima is already in position, his eyes flashing with a determination so fierce, Kuroo can see why he started out as a composer.

So dead set on getting things right, on leading himself like he would an orchestra, every melody and movement essential to the overall piece.

It must've been a shock then, for him to switch. But Kuroo already knows why; he saw it on that first day, watching Tsukishima dance, and even on the days before that. As a specter, Tsukishima moved gracefully, with so much care, and he still does. The heart wants what it wants, and as Tsukishima breathes in, Kuroo can tell he only wants to dance.

With reignited fire in his veins, Kuroo slips through one of the music books until he finds what he needs, and grazes his bow to the strings.

It's as instinctual as breathing now, and the music flows like air in his lungs, one note at a time.

Before he knows it, he's lost.

He blinks once, as Tsukishima takes his next step, and when he opens them again, the blond is off, and so is Kuroo.

The notes come out, abnormally somber but perfect, some of his strongest playing in a while. As much as he loves playing in general, there's nothing like working on something he's been itching to do. Coupled with Tsukishima's movements in front of him, there's nothing more inspiring.

Each line flows into the next, like Tsukishima's steps, the melody slow and deep. The sound from the cello vibrates off the walls, the floor, surging through his fingertips.

He sees Tsukishima pause at some points, not used to the pace, but he adjusts easily. The elegant undulations of his body move like it's a rehearsed performance, yet Kuroo knows it's just Tsukishima feeling the music in whatever way he sees fit. He pauses as Kuroo hits what he knows should be the climax of Tsukishima's dance. This is where the music is supposed to boom against an auditorium's walls, the other instruments joining in to create a beautifully deafening conclusion.

He doesn't have that power right now, but he puts his heart and soul into it. The cello sings deeply, and Tsukishima takes a pause, his leg extending in the air as his torso leans towards the ground without wavering. Perfect balance, and Kuroo almost slips up, simply watching.

He knows that's where a partner would usually be, holding Tsukishima's waist. Kuroo can't help but imagine himself in that position,  _him_ , with his two left feet and no sense of dance.

Yet, he imagines, and channels it into his notes. Tsukishima catches his eye for a brief second, a singular fleeting moment of trust and gratefulness.

It's invigorating. He doesn't want it to end.

But it has to; Kuroo hears the drums in his head, the song winding down, and the swan lake shrouded in darkness disappears.

As he watches Tsukishima exhale, he forgets his anxieties, his worries over his nontraditional sound. In that moment, it's simply the blond.

"Amazing," he sighs, not even having the shame to be embarrassed about it. He's still high on the feeling which comes from a good performance, practice or otherwise.

Tsukishima's eyes snap to his, caught off guard by the compliment. As if he doesn't get them all the time; Kuroo will really have to fight someone if that's the case.

Tsukishima turns away quickly, the scowl back; a reflex. Now instead of dreading it, Kuroo finds it endearing. So Tsukishima can't handle praise. Noted.

But one thing Tsukishima can do is deflect, and snarkily too. The blond waits for the color to leave his cheeks before he turns back to Kuroo, smug little smile on his face. "Otherworldly maybe?"

For a second, Kuroo is about to agree, surprised with the acceptance. Then, he understands the teasing glint, feels the embarrassment pour down his entire body.

 _Dammit_.

He almost groans, but he keeps it in. Not that it really matters, his face probably says it all.

"Maybe I am a ghost," Tsukishima jabs again, and fine...Kuroo deserves this.

But if he has to thank his own stupidity for meeting Tsukishima, then he will. His fingers ache in that wonderful, timeless way, and he wants to do that all over again.

"I hope not," he says, completely sincere, and loves the way Tsukishima's eyes widen. Bright, beautiful. Yeah, he wouldn't know what he'd do if Tsukishima wasn't really here.

But he is, and Kuroo will cherish that as long as he can.

"Ready to go again?" he asks, and though Tsukishima is caught off guard, he doesn't hesitate to nod, his feet already taking position.

Later that day, when they're exhausted and satisfied, Kuroo invites Tsukishima to practice again. Tsukishima’s gaze lingers fondly on the cello, and maybe a little on Kuroo too.

The blond gives a small, grateful nod. “Mm, I like the way you play.”

All Kuroo hears is: _‘I want to dance to it again.’_

And his heart soars, his hand gripping the cello’s neck like it’s his most prized possession. Come to think of it, it is.

Then Tsukishima is standing, throwing one last look over his shoulder. “Oh, and I…don’t hate the way you play Swan Lake either. Untraditional is…good…it’s…”

Kuroo perks up, like a puppy, but he really should’ve seen this coming. Tsukishima’s voice dances like his body; he knows exactly what he’s doing.

"It's almost haunting," Tsukishima concludes, smirk as sharp as a knife, and Kuroo knows with total certainty how gone he truly is.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments are always appreciated <3 
> 
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